The hotel lobby isn’t as busy as Brian had hoped. Walking down the corridor, he heads out the back door and follows the sidewalk by the pool to the soggy grass. His shoes sink into the mud as he walks across the lawn and down the hill to the back of the building’s garage. Brian focuses straight ahead and surprisingly has an air of confidence around him that he didn’t feel when he left the train. Now however, he felt free. He was ready. If he lost, then everyone lost. But if he won: everyone would win. He just had to make sure he came out as the winner. Turning the corner, he walks behind the garage and to the employee-only elevators. The area is deserted. Stopping, he takes out a cigarette and lights it. Looking around, he takes off his sunglasses. He wasn’t early, nor was he late. Brian was right on time. “Mr. Kinney?” Brian turns to the direction of the voice and nods, keeping his body language to a minimum. The man nods, “Follow me.” Following the man into the elevator, neither says a word as the fourth floor is pushed and the ride moves up. Brian stares straight ahead, telling himself, ’Justin and Molly will not run anymore. This is it.’ The doors open and Brian follows the man into the empty part of the garage and through the back doors into a storage area. well, this is secluded, he thinks to himself. The man stops suddenly, “You clean?” He asks. Brian opens his mouth to say something, but realizes it wasn’t really question when the man starts to physically search him. Brian stands there, staring straight ahead until the man stops, satisfied. “Follow me,” he orders and continues walking through the storage room. Stopping at a door, the man knocks before opening it. “He’s here,” he announces to the four men inside. Brian steps inside the room. Wooden crates have been made into table and chairs. Thankfully, the place is well lit so Brian is able to maneuver his way between the boxes to the crate/chair one of them men points towards for him to sit. “Kinney,” one of the men acknowledges. Brian nods, “Thanks for meeting me,” he states, forcing a polite smile between his lips. Reminding himself that this was simply a business meeting, he relaxes his body and brings his cigarette to his mouth. Another one of the men looks over at the man who brought Brian here. “He’s clean?” The man nods, then walks back to the door and leans against it, his arms crossed as he watches Brian. “So what can we do for you?” The third man asks, leaning forward. Brian gives them his award wining client-partner smile as he answers, “I’d like a make a deal.” He chuckles, “Is this some kind of sick joke? What do you fuckin’ have that we would possibly want?” “Well I do know where the Taylor kids are,” Brian answers smugly. “But instead of giving you them, how about I give you something better?” “Like what?” The other man asks, still leaning against the door. Brian shrugs, “What do you want?” “I don’t have fuckin’ time for this shit,” the second man grumbles, standing up. “Your boss is pissed off over a deal that the kids’ grandfather fucked,” Brian acknowledges. “What’s your fuckin’ point?” The first man argues. “My point, is that the entire fuckin’ Taylor enterprise is now in the hands of two kids that know shit about the business, and more importantly, don’t give a rat’s ass learning about the business.” He pauses. Seeing that he has their attention, he continues, “The kids are just that: kids. Your boss killed all of their relatives. They’re orphans. They don’t want any trouble. They just want to live their life.” “Stop fuckin’ rambling and get to the point. I’m getting bored,” the first man counters, pointing to the gun in the pants. “My point,” Brian reasons, keeping his voice calm and his body even calmer, “Is that Old Man Taylor couldn’t play with the big boys. You want his business, take it. The Taylor kids will gladly give it in exchange for removing the hit out on them.” “Dead or alive, we’re going to take their business,” The second man states smugly. Brian shrugs, “True, but it’ll be cleaner this way. A simple business transaction, and a house in a France… as a thank you gift to you from the kids,” he adds with a smile. The men are quiet, and Brian tries to keep his cool façade, but the silence is starting to make him nervous. Swallowing hard, he wonders what else he could throw in. “The police here are suspicious after what happened to Richard Taylor,” he comments. “The kids are keeping their mouth shut. They’re smart like that. They just want this ordeal to end so that they can go on with their lives.” Not sure if he said too much, Brian leans back with a faux air of nonchalance. The men look at each other, sharing a silent nod before standing up. “We’ll be in touch,” the first man tells him. Knowing this meant the meeting was over, Brian stands up and, tongue in cheek, shakes the man’s hand firmly, “I look forward to it.” Brian walks out of the room with dignified deliberateness. From the exterior, he seemed like one of them: cold, calculating, detached from personal emotions. Entering the elevator, he finally lets himself expel a shaky breath, “Fuck!” The doors open and Brian cautiously lets himself out, looking around before crossing over the wet lawn to the entrance of the hotel lobby. Hurrying through the hotel, Brian exits out the front door and takes long strides down the block to Carl Hovarth’s awaiting car. “Do you think they went for it?” Carl asks once Brian shuts the door. Pulling off his shirt, Brian yanks off the small microphone that was taped on the middle of his back. “Shit,” he mutters from the sting, before putting his shirt back on. “You heard what they said: what do you think?” Carl takes a deep breath, glancing over at the tape with the recorded conversation on it. “Hard to say.” Brian nods, hoping that his plan worked.